


Better Start Walking

by chewingonpearls (Reallife), sergeant_angel



Category: Daredevil (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, Young Avengers
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Grifter Darcy Lewis, Kate drives like a New Yorker, M/M, Mashing of universes, Multi, Multi pairings gradually, Slow Burn, Timeline What Timeline, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6852841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reallife/pseuds/chewingonpearls, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergeant_angel/pseuds/sergeant_angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Hawkeye and an intern go on a mission. Probably to save the world, they aren’t sure. Along the way they pick up two Winchesters, a handful of demons, a few angels and several otherwise unstable people who have the best of intentions.  </p><p>Well, no one ever said it was a good plan, just a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Song title taken from the song It's A Long Long Road by Fantastic Negrito which I highly recommend. 
> 
> Shield has not yet fallen, so pre CA:WS but this is 616 Kate and Clint. If anyone is curious, we picture Kate as Tanaya Beatty

Kate was driving into Jersey to see Kamala when Clint called her, and her inner New Yorker wanted to point out that of course her whole life was going to go goddamn sideways when she was on her way to Jersey.

“Hey Bishop.” _Aw, Clint no._ The Hawkeyes had a secret language, just like Clint and Nat, along with Kate and Nat. Starting the conversation by referring to her by her last name, even cheerfully, meant that people they couldn’t trust were listening.

“Hey Barton, how’s it hanging?” _We are on the same page. Are you captured?_

“Long and strong Katie-girl, are you driving? You should pull over, I always worry about you driving and talking on the phone.” _I am not injured and free. Mostly. I’m also about to need you to stop doing what you’re doing and do something stupid and reckless._

Kate sighed and checked her rearview before jerking the wheel and cutting someone off, giving them a glare and returning their rude gesture as she made a beeline towards the nearest exit. “Alright, pulling over. I needed gas anyway. What’s going on?” The nearest gas station wasn’t far down the road, which was good because she was probably going to need coffee after this talk.

Clint had that tone that said he was uncomfortable and sort of dreading the conversation, which wasn’t helping the situation. “Not much. I’m going to take a little vacation I think, I got in a motorcycle accident today. No big deal, it was that one I’ve had for God knows how long now,” _Shit. Goddamn shit._ “The one you always said was going to be the death of me.”

_Shit._

“The heat got to it, without a doubt. Whole thing just broke down. I’m banged up to hell but I’m all right.”

_Goddamnit_

The silence dragged on for longer than it should have, because she was pissed and worried and she couldn’t really say anything she wanted to. Her foot came down a bit too hard on the gas pedal and she was forced to swerve around ridiculous people being reasonable enough to drive the speed limit before she could pull into the Shell. 

The old bike that Kate had always been skeptical about was SHIELD, and she had every right to be after the interactions she and her team had with them. Going by what Clint was saying--or not saying--it wasn’t one person within SHIELD; apparently, it was the whole stupid organization, and Clint had gotten hurt in the process. Heat meant Hydra, which was just the icing on the cake.

She took a deep breath, trying to react like a _normal_ friend would when their _normal_ friend gets in a motorcycle wreck but is fine. 

Focus. Focus on finding out what Clint needed from her. 

“That's why I hated taking it out for a spin, I've always had better self preservation instincts than you.” _Am I safe?_

“Yeah well _you_ don't have to worry, not with that fancy riding gear your friend bought you.” _Yes, you're safe, your team protected you._

Kate gave a sigh of relief, eyes lingering on the cars passing by, “Do you need me to come by and change any bandages?” _Is it safe for me to come around?_

“No,” _Goddamnit Clint_ , “Natasha and I are going to use this as an excuse to visit Barney for a bit. I’m sorry we are going to miss your birthday, I would say I that I’ll call you on the day but you know signal is shit up there.”

It is a known fact--among _very few_ \--that Natasha Romanova did not like Barney Barton. Kate had never pressed her for reasons because knowing Natasha--and, more importantly, knowing Barney like she did--there was no explanation needed. One thing they could all admit about the eldest Barton boy, however begrudgingly, was that he was a survivor. Granted, this was sometimes done by simply disappearing when times were tough (or when people needed him) but still, Barney survived. Neither of the brothers had really had much of a choice in developing that ability, one of them just happened to be better at it.

So Natasha and Clint were going dark out of necessity, to a place or by means that neither of them were particularly pleased with but would keep them safe.

The birthday bit wasn’t code; it really was her birthday in two weeks. His lamentation at missing it was probably genuine, even though Clint wasn’t the best at gifts.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just raid your pantry to get back at you.”

Clint just laughed in a way that felt terribly, terribly normal. Kate’s hands clenched and unclenched on the wheel, wondering how bad he really was (because he always downplayed his injuries) and when she would see him next. 

Unfortunately, the other shoe hadn’t dropped. 

“Listen, Thor dropped off some gifts for you, you’ll recognize the distinct look of Asgardian baggage in your fancy apartment. I snuck it in.” What?! No fucking way was he expecting her to-- “Careful, you know how Asgardian things are, look pretty, actually cause chaos if you shake them.”

He really was expecting her to do this. What kind of futzing blow to the head did he take?

“I hid your gift from me too, I didn’t think I’d have to send you after it yourself. I’m sorry.” He wasn’t apologizing for missing her birthday and they both knew it. “It’s in that old rickety cabinet underneath my old record collection. I don’t even know why I keep it around anymore.”

Clint _did_ have an old record collection, that’s why this was one of their most effective and misleading phrases. Also one of the most rarely used, because it represented his old life--the circus, filled with witches, voodoo, demons and worse. Clint wanted her to grab the records, the artifacts and notes from his old life. The shit Coulson, Clint and Natasha had been sure stayed on paper instead of on a server somewhere, so it would be safer from people who were trying to access SHIELD’s databases.

People like Hydra, who had a history of trying to harness the power of magical, dark things.

Which all meant Clint wanted her to protect that information and his next statement proved it. “So since we won’t be around for your birthday, you should break out your gifts and go down to that ol’ bar I keep telling you about but haven’t gotten the chance to go to. Tell the bartender her favorite Barton sent you and they might just give you a free beer.”

“Sure, Clint,” Forced casualness, forced normality. “Sounds like a good time. Let me know if you need anything while you’re on the mend.”

Not that making contact would be easy; they’d both destroy their phones after this. 

“Yeah yeah, stay safe Katie-Kate.”

The line clicked and she tossed her phone hard into her dashboard as if it deserved to be punished for the conversation. Thor’s baggage was Darcy Lewis, a girl in his weird little human entourage the Asgardian had acquired, who seemed to have few usable skills in the circles they ran in. Kate didn’t have anything in particular against Darcy, in fact Clint had taken a shine to her. It was just that their conversations had been so brief and so limited, she hadn’t had a chance to move from the ‘Civilian That Needs To Be Protected’ category for Kate.

Now Clint expected her to take Darcy, books, artifacts and who knew what else he had squirreled away from his old life to a Hunter bar that he, Coulson and Natasha occasionally passed leads or books to. A place that Kate was only vaguely aware of its location. Somewhere Midwest-y. Probably with lots of corn.

This is what happened when she tried to go to Jersey.


	2. It was the best of plans, it was the worst of plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well they ain't Thelma and Louise but they get on alright.

"It's over the garden wall, and we're going to see the wizard come what may or hell to pay" -- Elphaba, from Gregory Maguire's _Wicked: The Life and Times Of The Wicked Witch of The West_

_Kate ignored the stuffing from Clint’s mattress that littered the floor as she opened up and discarded manilla envelopes at an alarming rate, both impressed and annoyed with how many Clint had stashed away. Seriously, the man slept on this mattress. How?_

_Finally in one of them she saw her face looking back at her and reached inside of it with a mutter of **”Finally”** , she pulled out a driver's license, passport, and a number of other documents with her face and a fake name. It was the one her and Natasha made without Clint knowing. More as a joke than anything else._

_The memory brought a fond smile to her face as she ran her thumb over the name, wishing Clint was here to sputter in indignation at it. Ah well. She stashed the envelope in her duffel before turning back to Darcy, gesturing at the pile that remained. “Clint should have one for you somewhere buried in there, he’s not very organized.” Frankly they were lucky they were even in envelopes instead of one big pile._

_To her surprise, Darcy shook her head with a grin and suddenly had an ID in her hand that she pulled from God knows where and handed it to her. “Naw, I always carry a spare self with me.”_

_Eyebrow raised, and suspicion levels rising, Kate took the card, “Max Black? That doesn’t even sound real. More like a Bond villain.”_

_Darcy pouted. “Really? She’s one of my favorites, went to art school and everything!”_

_“All I’m saying is, that name could also double as a coffee brand.” It was hardly two in the afternoon, but Kate could really do with some coffee, “I’d drink Max Black coffee.”_

_Darcy’s eyebrows wiggled, reminding her vaguely of Stark in a mildly alarming way, “There are so many paths I could go down with that comment, Kate.”_

_Kate put on her most uninterested Resting Face, briefly considered barrelling headfirst into an innuendo war before she rolled her eyes. “Not today Darcy, not today.”_

_“Anyway,” quick as lightning she snatched Kate’s ID from her hand. “What’s with Francis anyway? I’ve never met anyone under the age of 70 with that name.”_

_That, at least, was something that she felt confident in, unlike the rest of everything about all of this. “Natasha and I created these so she and Clint could find me.” Kate didn’t quite resort to saying ‘It’s a spy thing, you wouldn’t understand’ to the civilian, but it’s in her tone. There are other IDs, other names, other people Kate could be; being Francis was just...being positive. Just because this stuff was in Clint’s...stuffing, doesn’t mean he knows what or who they are. She’s operating on the hope that he or Natasha will be able to come looking for them sooner rather than later._

_She shoveled a handful of passports and driver’s licenses back into an envelope, catching sight of a California ID with a blonde Natasha--Kitty Burton, and one with a shaved-head Clint, Nathaniel Castle. There’s a high probability of those being “we were drunk and sentimental” creations. Spies are weird like that._

_“Francis Nikolayevna. Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”_

_“It’s not supposed to roll off the tongue. It’s supposed to mean something.”_

_Kate spotted another ID with her face on it, snagged it, shoving it onto her back pocket._

_“Are you going to tell me why you ‘always carry a spare self’?” It wasn’t quite her ‘I’m the boss of this team’ voice, but it was getting there._

_“Nope!” Darcy’s lips pursed as she popped the ‘p’ at the end of the word. She looked like she was enjoying herself far too much, and it was hard for Kate to criticize her for having secrets. Lord knows Kate had plenty of her own._

_Darcy handed her back her ID, with just the hint of a pout on her lips before grabbing at the seabag they brought to pack Clint’s shit in so they could get on the road._

_“Isn’t that a Russian thing? The ending, the, waddya call it, patronymic? Nichol--”_

_“Nicholas,” Kate surveyed the room._

_“Nicholas? Like St. Nick?” Darcy smirks. “Oh. Oh snap, like Nick Fu--”_

_“Let’s go,” Kate shoved her new friend out the door. “Move it.”  
_

Kate glanced at Darcy as her iPod switched over to _The Kinks_. The two women had nearly come to blows over the damn thing and whether it needed to be thrown under the car tires (Kate) or kept in lieu of hauling either of their CD collections (Darcy, who also stated it was to keep both of them sane). 

In the end it had been kept, after Darcy had sworn that there was no way that anyone had bugged her iPod. She wouldn’t say how she had ensured such a thing, but her determination and pointed looks at the bandage in her arm that clearly said ‘I trusted you when your friend took a knife to my arm, now you have to trust me’ ended up winning her the argument.

Privately, Kate was glad that Darcy had won. Not only had the two discovered a surprising overlap in music tastes, but anything was better than their options once they got to certain parts of the country where the only stations were _”...and Jesus said’_ or banjos.

They were still going at it over Darcy putting her damn sneakers up on her dash, though, which Darcy insisted on doing every half hour or so. Speaking of which...

“Damnit Darcy, get your damn feet down.” She leaned over to whack at the younger woman’s legs, keeping the car steady in the process.

Her legs lowered, though she glared at Kate, reminding her of a petulant child. “Calm down Katie--” Clint was totally getting hit in the back of the head after this was all said and done for making people think it was safe to call her Katie, “where are we going anyway? Like, exactly?”

“A bar. Or Roadhouse. Whatever. In Nebraska,” She didn’t have the exact address, which was...not exactly comforting. And also not something she was going to tell Darcy.

“You have no idea, do you?”

“I have a general concept of the location. That I am not at liberty to share with you.”

“We’re going to die in a wilderness of wheat, aren’t we.”

“Darcy.” Kate glanced over at her. “We’re not going to die in a wilderness of wheat. We’re not going to be killed by the children of the corn. The midwest is not going to swallow us up whole and spit up our bones, and as far as I’m aware, we are not _actually_ on the Highway to Hell. We’re going to be fine.”

Darcy nodded and cast a glance towards the trunk. “As long as _you’re_ sure, then. So we’re just going to give Clint’s stuff to the people there and be done with it…?” It was hard to tell whether she was pleased with this or pouting.

Kate was still trying to figure Darcy out. There had been no more hints about why she already had papers to start a new life with her. Nothing said or done that would make Kate suspicious--or more than her usual level of suspicious--and Kate trusted Clint’s judgement.

Well. Kate trusted Clint’s judgement on _people_.

Actually.

Kate trusted _Natasha’s judgement_ , and Natasha liked Darcy, so there was that at least.

“That’s the plan. So far.”

“Do you realize there is exactly diddly squat in Nebraska? It’s boring. I mean, it’s not as flat as Iowa but it’s bigger. So, you know. More room for boring, I guess. If this stuff is dangerous, I can’t imagine anyone out here with the ability to protect it.” She shifted in her seat so she could lean closer to Kate. “Besides, shouldn’t we look at the stuff first? Maybe we can do better than handing it over to these guys, Clint said take it there, he didn’t explicitly say to give it to them, did he?”

There was a casualness to Darcy’s tone and posture that normally Kate wouldn’t have thought twice about, but now she noted it, Darcy’s narrowed eyes and the gears turning in her head. “Just because you’re the more reasonable Hawkeye doesn’t mean we can’t take risks right? What if we’re driving around with an ancient bomb in the car, we have no idea. We deserve to know that.”

Kate stifled a bitter laugh. That was exactly the kind of logic SHIELD had hated her for, the reason her team _technically_ worked for SHIELD and she was _technically_ a consultant. Clint either had no idea what he was doing, or too much of an idea of what he was doing.

Kate kept her eyes glued to the road, but her mind was already in the trunk. Darcy had given voice to what Kate had been chewing on for the past week. _Forewarned is forearmed_ and all that.

She wanted to honor Clint’s request not to look--everyone has a right to hide their past, after all--but--

But.

It’s always easier to create a strategy if you have more information, if you know all the pieces in play. And Clint, of all people, knew how she hated going in blind.

“It would be nice to know why Clint thinks Hydra would want that stuff.” She’s talking to herself, prepping to convince her team to go against orders, but Darcy grins.

It made her look a little feral, and there’s a spark in her eyes that wasn’t there before, like she thinks she’s making progress wearing Kate down. “Exactly. If there’s information about a weapon of some kind in there, we can find it before they do, protect it--”

“Or better yet, use it against them.” Yeah, Kate was going to need to shape up, because Darcy isn’t looking like she’s going to be the moral backbone of this partnership. Kate wasn’t used to that role; Teddy was usually the one who reminded her of the human element, the irony of which has never been lost on her. 

Fear twisted unexpectedly in Kate’s gut, thoughts about her team rising to the surface--thoughts she’d been shoving down since Clint’s call. She shoved them back down, harder, farther. She had a mission. She had a job. 

She had to trust her people.

Her eyes darted back over to Darcy, who was sneaking her feet back onto the dash. Kate hadn’t thought much about the questions surrounding Darcy for over a week. Questions about fake IDs and Darcy’s occasional and completely blatant disregard for locks--she’d been more focused on Darcy complaining about the shitty motels they’ve been staying in, and the shitty food they’ve been eating, and the shitty car they’re driving, having ditched Kate’s car outside of DC. Darcy seemed surprised Kate wasn’t more spoiled, what with the growing up rich thing, but she was still trying to use Kate’s posh upbringing to force them into staying somewhere more swanky and less...buggy.

Kate had been resolutely ignoring her questions about Darcy since the thing a few states back.

_They’re in Kentucky, at another Mom and Pop dinner in yet another little town, and Kate nearly breaks her neck when Darcy pulls out an accent that matches their waitress perfectly, asking if there is anywhere in town just ‘a mite bit cleaner’ than that place they passed when they got off the interstate._

_Kate watches with a mix of fascination and confusion as the waitress sits down beside her, telling her to “scooch over” so she can get comfortable and launch into a long conversation with the woman in the greasy apron about how she and her cousin (Kate thinks this is her) from New York are on a road trip across the country._

_Darcy’s word choice, tone, accent and even posture are completely different, it’s like she was replaced with a ...Pod Person or something._

_She tells the waitress that she’s from some town apparently a few counties away and apparently it’s just the right thing to say because her eyes light up and Kate’s really starting to wonder when she’s getting her _goddamned_ coffee at this rate. It’s not coming anytime soon if Darcy doesn’t stop jabbering._

_It’s hard for Kate to keep a straight face when Darcy aims a long suffering look at the waitress and tells her of the last motel her ‘stingy cousin’ (except, wait, in this instance that’s her isn’t it? Ugh. She should be offended. Probably) made them stay in, middle of the summer and the AC was broken!_

_“I was sweatin’ like a whore in church!” Both women break out in giggles, and as the waitress stood from their booth she’s inviting them to a little bed and breakfast that is the town’s ‘best kept secret’ (apparently)._

_Alright. Let Darcy keep her secrets, at least so long as they turn out to be useful._

The next time they stopped was at an empty turnoff. Both women stared expectantly at the trunk, as if they half-expected it to explode if they opened it.

“Go on,” Darcy urged. “I’m right here. Go for it, Katie-Kate.”

“If you call me that one more time--”

“I’m not getting any younger.”

Kate growled and popped the trunk. The seabag sat there. Unitimidating. Boring, almost. Kate unzipped it. Nothing exploded, nothing popped out or swarmed out or ran out or--

“Right.” _Get a goddamn backbone, Kater-tot_. She jerked the unassuming zipper, rummaging around in the items she last saw in Clint’s apartment. Old books, mostly. There was a box that looked like it might have held jewelry but now held a slab of stone, the size of a book or a tablet, weathered smooth to the touch. A few scrolls, a handful pouches containing what appeared to be herbs and dust. A few of them made her skin crawl, the feeling that something just wasn’t right. 

Darcy was flipping through a few of the tomes when something glittering fell out. 

“What is that, a necklace?”

“Dunno,” Darcy held it up to the sun. Light glinted off the dull metallic surface. “Think it’s a Horcrux?”

“Please. I would _love_ to fight Voldemort.”

“What a weird concept anyway, right?” Darcy dropped the talisman back into the bag. “I mean, what even is a soul, anyway--what?” She caught the weird look Kate was giving her. “I was a philosophy major for, like, three-quarters of a semester.”

~*~

They reached _Harvelle’s Roadhouse_ with little fanfare(other than Darcy falling out of the car dramatically grateful for a respite from Kate's driving.)All in all, it was a fairly uneventful trip, one run-in with Hydra agents notwithstanding. And even that had seemed more like an accident than someone actually hunting for them, like Kate and Darcy’s faces were on a BOLO the agents had just seen, rather than “here are detailed dossiers on your targets”.

It was weird, was what it was. Made Kate think Clint was paranoid, or that he was getting better at lying to her and this whole thing was a ruse to get her out of the line of fire.

Given Clint’s past and the few details he’d given Kate over the years, the outside of the Roadhouse is exactly what Kate expected. Run-down, nondescript. Not the kind of place you accidentally stumble into on a family vacation. 

And as with every place they’d stopped in the past weeks, Kate was reluctant to leave the car. To leave the information unattended, the flotsam and jetsam of Clint’s life that was, apparently, valuable enough to hide. 

Kate reminded herself: _Clint told you to come here. This place is safe. Ish._

“So,” Darcy continued to be unaware of Kate’s inner debate. “You think they have good burgers here, or what?”

“Ribs,” Kate said decisively. “I’d kill for some cheese-smothered potatoes, but probably ribs.”

“No time like the present.” Darcy’s eyes flicked back towards the trunk, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. “If you give me two minutes and a bobby pin I can rig one of our phones as a car alarm.”

 

“Can I help you girls?” a low voice greeted them as they stepped into the cool dim of the Roadhouse. “You lost, or somethin’?”

The woman who spoke had a pleasant smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. _Get out_ , she was actually saying.

“Not any more,” Kate returned the smile with an equally unfriendly one as she dragged Darcy right up to the bar, cataloguing the patrons as they made their way past empty tables. 

Two young men playing pool.  
Older, bearded guy, trucker hat...sharpening a knife?  
A tiny blonde serving drinks to a bearded guy in a baseball cap.  
A skinny person of indeterminate gender, long hair, passed out in the back corner.

There was some nervous shifting; Kate spotted a knife and a shotgun being eased out and her hand itched for her bow, a sword, all too conspicuous to have brought in--her hand drifted to her staves strapped to her thigh. 

Not a nervous gesture, just a preparatory one.

“A friend recommended this place to me,” Kate snagged a menu and handed it to Darcy, keeping the older woman’s gaze. “Said I just had to come here for a birthday drink.”

That was the right thing to say; the woman’s shoulders dropped and her hands came up from under the bar.

“Really? Strange friend.”

“And I was told if I gave you his name I’d get a free beer out of it, though honestly these days I feel I’m just as likely to get a punch for him.”

“Oh yeah? Who’d that be?”

“Your favorite Barton.”

The tiny blonde moved back towards the bar, watching them, still tense and distrustful even though most the other patrons had taken their cues from the older woman and relaxed. They’re still watching Darcy and Kate though, and knowing what Kate knows she doesn’t really blame them.

“Didn’t catch your name kid,” the woman nodded to both of them. Darcy was standing behind Kate, watching her stance, taking her cues from her, while trying to act like she isn’t--and doing a pretty good job, if you don’t know Darcy as well as Kate’s grown to.

“Didn’t give it.” Kate reached back to hit Darcy’s shoulder with her menu to stop the muttering about ‘spies and their stupid paranoia’.

The blonde came around the bar, settled beside the other woman with a challenging look to Kate and Darcy. Younger than both of them, if something started she’d probably be one of the instigators. Brash, eager to prove herself around the men in the bar who wore their baggage and anger as visibly as their worn flannel and bloody boots.

Kate knew the type. She’d been the type.

“ _Francis_ ,” Darcy finally snapped out, chastising Kate but looking the other two women in the eyes, as if she’s saying ‘whatchu gonna do?’ and it’s a little sad that Kate recognized that look so quickly.

The tension shattered under the laughter from both women at the bar as the tiny blonde moved to grab two beers. “Welcome to Harvelle’s Roadhouse, I’m Jo--mom stop laughing!” Jo rolled her eyes as Kate and Darcy shared a look before moving to sit at the bar. Just like a switch had been flipped, normal activity resumed; men went back to their beers and pool games and--sharpening knives, okay, that wasn’t exactly normal, but at this point, Kate will take what she can get.

“This is my mom, Ellen,” Jo gestured to the older woman when it became clear she wasn't’ going to introduce herself. Ellen’s face was red as she grabbed herself a beer and handed one to Jo in the process.

“I’m sorry, I just wish he was here to hear you call her that. Have you been travelling across the country going by Francis?” Now that she’s dropped her guard--though not completely, Ellen already reminds her a little of Nat, rare to fully relax--and is smiling, it transforms her face and Kate can’t help but be a little grateful that Darcy convinced her to get out of the car.

Kate just grinned in response, raising her bottle to toast the other women, bottles clanking together as she and Ellen bonded over the shared joy of teasing Clint mercilessly. It wouldn’t be her first friendship that started out like that, oddly enough. “So you must be Katie, then.”

It’s a mark of how well Darcy has come to know Kate(and probably how much she cares, but Kate hasn’t decided if that should make her glad or afraid for Darcy) that she corrected Ellen. “It’s Kate.” 

It’s a sign that they have been spending _far_ too much time together that they both spout out the line at the same time.

“How’d you know?” Kate asked.

Kate would swear Ellen did it on purpose, timed it, watched Kate for just the right moment to say, “Well you don’t look like the ex-wife type, and I already met the Russian.”

Luckily she didn’t spit out her beer (she doesn’t! _shut up Darcy_ ), though it did go up her nose just a little. “Definitely not Bobbi. Not that I don’t crazy admire her, but definitely not married to Clint. Ever.”

Ellen looked to Darcy expectantly, though she was so focused on the menu it took her a few moments to notice. When she finally looked up her face flushed incrementally from the focus of all three women. “Oh! Sorry, I’m Darcy. Clint sent me with Kate.”

Darcy didn’t elaborate even though Ellen waited expectantly for further details; Darcy returned to the menu as if she didn’t notice even though Kate knew she did.

These were Clint’s friends, he trusted them--and by extension Kate should, too. Not that Clint always had the best judgement in people or anything, and maybe it’s because with all her cleverness and wit Darcy was still a civilian and Kate felt the inherent need to protect her--whatever it is, she didn’t offer more details.

Or maybe it was because Darcy didn’t seem to trust them, and Kate had grown to trust Darcy, at least a little. Kate trusted Darcy enough to have her back; she would trust her judgement when it came to people. 

“So what brings you two girls our way? Clint is supposed to let us know about anyone else before they show up.” 

Kate couldn’t blame Ellen for being suspicious still, and her eyes darted to Darcy’s, a silent discussion between them that largely consisted of raised eyebrows, half-shrugs and pursed lips.

Finally, she came to a decision. Ellen was Clint’s friend, he trusted her. Knew her from before his life with SHIELD. He’d told her stories about Ellen and now that Kate had a name and a face, recognized her as a person he’d once recommended to SHIELD as a reliable contact. 

If she wanted Ellen’s help--and, perhaps, more importantly, her _network’s_ help, Kate needed to be honest with her. Honesty meant putting both Kate (and, perhaps more importantly) Darcy’s safety in Ellen’s hands.

Granted, this was all dependent on Clint’s judgement of the woman’s capabilities and character, but if Kate dwelled on _that_ too much she would be second guessing this all day.

She took a moment to pull her hair back into a messy ponytail, using the gesture to look around to see if anyone had approached them while her back was turned or was simply paying too much attention to them. 

All clear, although Darcy shot her a ‘girl, please’ look. 

“Clint has had to go dark--problems at SHIELD. Clint and Natasha aren’t safe, and neither are we.”

Jo and Ellen tensed in front of her, worry and anger tightening Ellen’s face and aging her about ten years.

“He told us to get his shit and come here, so we did. We weren’t followed, but we were spotted about three days ago, which is why we weren’t here _two_ days ago. Fairly certain they didn’t follow us here, but I don’t feel comfortable saying I’m _positive_ they didn’t follow us here.”

Darcy snorted, laid her menu back on the bar. “Cheeseburger, please.” Said casually, with just a touch of boredom. Ellen and Jo stared at her, this girl who obviously didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation--but Kate knew better. She knew Darcy didn’t think she noticed, but Kate did. She noticed how Darcy held back to read people, or jumped in to provoke people she didn’t need to read. 

Ellen and Jo looked at Kate expectantly, but Kate stayed quiet, with the intention of giving out as little detail as possible. She still wasn’t sure why Clint thought Darcy needed to protected, but those questions were between her and Clint. Whatever Darcy’s history, however she learned the skills she’d displayed on this trip so far--those weren’t Kate’s secrets to pry out of her.

Jo took Darcy’s menu and cast an expectant look at Kate. 

“Same.” The girl--Kate pegged her at eighteen, give or take, took their menus before she walked off, leaving the other three to sip at their beers.

“Before we get any farther, I wonder if you might recommend some people for a job.” Kate dug into one of the pockets in her cargo pants, earning a curiously raised eyebrow from Ellen. Kate pulled out the tiny chips that Prodigy had given her along with the one pulled from Darcy by Matt, wrapped in their tiny tinfoil packages, and set them on the bar.

“What the hell is that?” Ellen jerked her chin at the packets.

Darcy cast a look of disgust at them before going back to taking in the other patrons of the bar.

“These are trackers, I was hoping to give them to some travelers to lead them off of our trail. We can pay.”

Ellen grinned and took a step back from them before she leaned to yell around the girls. “Hey boys!” Quiet descended back on the bar as she commanded everyone’s full attention. “These lovely ladies need a couple of strapping young men to lead some jackasses off their trail, paid of course. Which of you gentlemen volunteers?”

Several came over, looking more than pleased to help. Kate would wager fifty percent because Kate and Darcy were young and attractive, fifty percent because it was paid. 

“These seem like your kind of folk, Kate,” Darcy smirked, leaning on Kate’s shoulder.

_What the hell does that even mean?_

“How about you take care of this, and I’ll get Ellen’s opinion on that musty stuff we got from your dude.” With that Darcy stepped off of her stool, gestured to Ellen who first made sure Jo could still see the front of the house before stepping out with Darcy.

“Okay, boys,” Kate turned to the two burly guys. “One for each of you. They’re basically GPS chips. Don’t take them out of the foil until you’re at least fifty miles out. Separate directions. Keep moving. Dump them in two days. If you can find someone else to take them, keep them moving, that’s great. Know someone who’s pissed you off? Stick ‘em in their car. If you stop, you may or may not be met by very angry people.”

The first guy raised his eyebrow before looking over at his buddy with a smirk. “Ellen said paid job. How were you, uh,” he exchanged another look with his pal. “How were you planning on paying?”

Kate imagined punching him in the kidneys as she reached into her jacket. “Cash. Four thousand.”

“Two thousand bucks just to throw some asshole off of your trail?” The second guy looked at her with a little less leer than his companion. “What’d you girls do?”

“I’m an assassin,” Kate stared at both of them. “Some senator tried to grope my wife out there, and I killed him.”

They didn’t look like they believed her but they’d gotten the point: _Don’t fuck with us_.

“Here,” she handed each of them a roll of cash. It was about half of what she had left, but it seemed wrong, somehow, to pay them less when they were taking such a risk, even if they didn’t realize they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Questions? Concerns? Find us on tumblr at Click [sergeant_angel](http://sergeant-angels-trashcan.tumblr.com/) and [Awkwardnormalcy(Alyss)](awkwardnormalcy). ONE OF US IS REALLY FRIENDLY BUT AWKWARD AND THE OTHER IS TERRIBLE. DARE YOU TAKE YOUR CHANCES?
> 
> jk we are both friendly, awkward and terrible. We should also have a fairly regularly update schedule for this fic, as we have a LOT OF FEELINGS related to these characters and this verse so we have written quite a bit already.


	3. Follow It Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy is a quick study; she just doesn't get paid enough to share those findings with the general public.

“The eye is always caught by light, but shadows have more to say.” - _\- Mirror Mirror by Gregory Maguire_

Darcy and Ellen came back from checking out Clint’s Bag of Crap to find Kate looking mildly irritated and the bar less two patrons. The only reason Darcy knew Kate was irritated was because she’d spent the last week and a half in an intense crash-course in reading Hawkeye. It was clear in the set of her shoulders and the way she’d splattered ketchup on her plate.

“Those boys take the job?” Ellen patted Kate’s shoulder as she went to stand back behind the bar. Kate didn’t like strangers infringing on her personal space; Ellen seemed to be one of those people who butted up against people’s boundaries just to see how they handled it. Not a good mix.

“Oh, they sure did. Thanks, hopefully that will buy us some time to get back home-”

“Home’s a no-go,” Darcy interrupted Kate. “Ellen doesn’t know what we’ve got much more than we do. Said there’s a lot of demon lore, though. And a few things that made her look, I don’t know, like the Four Horsemen had just pulled up. So she’s sending us to some guy named Bobby--”

“No, I’m not,” Ellen interrupted her. “I’m sending you to Sam and Dean. They’re the ones you want for demon stuff--them _and_ Bobby.”

 “Sam and Dean?” Kate looked at Ellen askance. “What, are they missing the other half of the Rat Pack?”

 “Ayyy,” Darcy raised her hand and Kate high-fived her.

 Ellen rolled her eyes at them. “Sam and Dean are on a Hunt down in Missouri. They’re having a little trouble catching the monster’s trail--” (they weren’t, Ellen was lying) “so I’m gonna send you girls down to help them.”

 “Why on earth would I go help two complete strangers doing something I know nothing about?” Kate didn’t even bother hiding her disinterest. “I don’t know these people. I don’t even know you--”

“Well, I’m telling you, girl, you want help, you’re going to have to go to Sam and Dean first.”

 “I don’t know ‘Sam and Dean’, I’m not putting Darcy in further danger on your word. You’re in Clint’s books, ‘Sam and Dean’,” (The continued use of exaggerated air quotations were definitely not necessary Kate, jeez) “are _not_. If Clint wasn’t so sure this junk belonged in Hunters’ hands we would be taking these to my team. Wiccan can protect them just as well as anyone here, maybe better.”

 Jo bristled at the accusation behind Kate’s words. “Then why don’t you? Y’all can just go for all we care, you’re gonna get possessed or worse with no one to blame but yourself.”

 “Possessed? Whoa, wait, no one said anything about possession.” Darcy did not like the sound of that. There were secrets she had that SHIELD didn’t even know, and on average, SHIELD knew _everything_. Demons? Yeah, she didn’t need that in her life. Someone who could get inside her head and pull out all those secrets, one by one? Like where her parents were?

 Jo seemed to recognize the dawning look of realization in her eyes. “Yep. Possession. They’ll know everything you know, and go after everyone you love--” she looked to Kate, voice and posture yelling a challenge, “your team, your friends. Wearing your face.”

 Moments like this made Darcy want to sit down with Kate and give her some lessons on hiding her emotions, because she wore her heart on her sleeve. Both Kate and Steve were known for taking the health of Their Team very seriously, and sometimes (often) taking too much on their shoulders. Darcy hadn’t ever seen the two of them interact, but she’d bet cold, hard cash on the fact that their generalized dislike of one another was due largely to the fact that their brains ran along the exact same self-sacrificing bullshit path.

 Darcy had observed Kate enough during their trip, and heard enough from Clint and Nat in the past, to know it’s the team part that worried her, the possibility of being used against them like so many other heroes have in the past. Darcy had heard the stories (ones she wasn’t supposed to hear) and watched the surveillance footage on SHIELD’s systems (that she was told didn’t exist) to understand that what might be a joke or a sarcastic remark to most was a very real fear for Kate.

 Basically, it was a low blow, even if Jo didn’t realize just how low it was. She seemed to get the general idea, though, as the seconds ticked by. Maybe it was the way Kate’s jaw tightened, or the fact that her arms tensed enough that they trembled slightly. Hell, it might even have been that Darcy, who had, up until that point, acted with all the casual malaise of a teenager on a boring road trip, was now glaring at Jo.

Of course, _moody teenager_ , like many of Darcy’s personas, was just an act. An act she broke out of as she reached up to scoop a bit of Kate’s hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear before she went back to her beer. It was enough to distract Kate, causing a flicker of confusion to cross her features; an expression that switched to warmth before her face settled into a look Darcy had decided meant “I am calm and faking being fully confident, but still fairly confident”.

In the end it was Kate that broke the tension properly, who had the self control not to snap out something vicious at the implication _she_ would be the one to bring her team harm. The breath-hold-release was obvious to Darcy; Ellen’s lips quirked up in a half-smile before her face fell back into the serious lines of a glare.

“You make it sound like that hasn’t happened before,” Kate almost managed to sound civil (Darcy feels a little proud of her for managing any sort of non-rage). “That’s like, a Tuesday.”

“Well,” Ellen cut in. “Then you know it ain’t fun. The kinda thing should be avoided, wouldn’t you say?”

Ellen and Kate locked eyes and Darcy didn’t know what weird alpha-female telepathy happened, only that Kate nodded and Ellen nodded and the tension eased in the bar.

“I still don’t see why we can’t just go to this Bobby guy and have _Sam and Dean_ ” (the air quotes are just implied this time) “meet us there.”

“It’s a test,” Darcy interrupted. “As much as we don’t trust you, you don’t trust us, right?” Darcy directed most of this at Ellen, who offered her a surprised nod. “So as much as you hate it, accept it, Hawkinggirl. They aren’t going to tell us where to find Bobby.”

Kate opened her mouth, caught Darcy’s expression, and closed it again. Darcy could practically see Kate move from frustration, to admiration, to acceptance, to full-on Confident Leader.

“Alright,” The archer pulled out the much refolded map from the bag slung over her shoulder, smoothed it over the bar, tapping it with nails kept intentionally short and neat. “So, what. We pass the Sam-and-Dean test, they take us to Bobby. Great. Tell us where they are, and what they’re hunting.”

Just like that Kate put the next leg of their trip--and their safety--in the hands of two women they had never met, taking their word on two men they had never heard of, carrying something far above their paygrade in their trunk.

It was terrifying, but Darcy had to admire that sort of reckless disregard for personal safety.

She finally tucked in to her burger, pushing Kate and Ellen’s voices to the back of her head. Kate was the leader of this little venture of theirs, and Darcy trusted her enough to take care of the details. Kate might only have been working for SHIELD on a consulting basis (not something Darcy was supposed to know, probably) but her lack of full-time employment wasn’t because she wasn’t good at plans.

Kate seemed to work well with solid goals: protect stuff, protect team. Darcy was fairly certain Kate had also made it more or less her job to Protect Darcy.

Which was fine with Darcy. Costumed types seemed to get that vibe around her a lot. Darcy would follow her lead; she’s started to trust Kate. Not just because she was Clint’s partner but because she was _Kate_. She might not always have her shit together, but at least so far she’s been honest about it.

It had taken the actual facts _attack from Hydra_ on their motel room (where Darcy had taken out one guy with her taser before running after another with a gigantic phone book, screeching like a banshee) for Kate to confess that up until that point she really hadn’t been sure they were in any real danger. She had done what Clint and Natasha asked because they were her friends, and she respected them and trusted them. Kate admitted (while duct-taping and zip-tying unconscious Hydra agents) that she had been skeptical about how _much_ Hydra wanted to get their hands on an intern, a Hawkeye, and some dusty old books and scribbled notepads.

Kate had also confessed (as if it was a surprise) she would have rather been fighting Hydra with her team than go off grid with a civilian. (She had said it with the air of admitting to a cardinal sin; Darcy had just appreciated Kate being open about it)

After the attack, though, the threat was real for both of them. Hydra might not have been actively searching for them, but they were _wanted_ by Hydra. Darcy was ready for the Hydra threat; the supernatural threat? That she wasn’t ready for. She had heard rumors--whispers--you couldn’t hang around the people and places she hung around and not get a _whiff_ of that sort of crazy, but she’d never put much stock in it. She hadn't gotten tangled up in that world, and that world--to her knowledge--had left her alone.

Now though?

Now an experienced Hunter was telling them they were carrying shit in their car that _demons_ were going to want to get their paws on.

Demons.

For fucksake.

Demons! It wasn’t enough that Men With Guns were coming after them, now there were going to be demons.

This is what she got for befriending superheroes. Now they were being directed to other people, and even though she and Kate were trying to hide their irritation (and not really succeeding, on Kate’s end), both women were frankly getting a little tired of feeling like someone else was pulling their strings.

Darcy tuned back in to the conversation between Kate and Ellen just enough to pick up the tones (Ellen: frustrated, Kate: frustrated in a different way, Jo: irritated) before focusing back on her traveling companion.

There are different types of personalities in the world--Darcy’s parents and their cohorts raised her to identify them all. Weaknesses, strengths, how to push their buttons, how to make them smile, how to make them cry. Made people easier to con; made it easier to get by unnoticed or even to disappear when you know what people will see, when you know what they want to see. It’s not one of her favorite learned abilities, not like hacking or picking locks, but some things that are drilled into you--well, they don’t get out easy.

Darcy has had a lot of time to study Hawkeye, and this is what she knew:

Katherine Bishop adapts, she survives, she won’t stand idly by when she can catapult off a building and headfirst into danger. To Kate Bishop, broken bones and ticking bombs are easier to understand than giving up.

Except she’s also a Protector, and it’s hard to throw yourself into the belly of the beast if there is something or someone that needs your protection.

So Darcy watched Katherine Bishop, Hawkeye, cataloged the twitches in her eyes, the popping of her knuckles, the way she stood as if accommodating more weapons than she currently wore, the way she inadvertently commanded attention, and wondered. Wondered how Kate would have reacted to Clint’s call if she didn’t have Darcy to look after? Would have followed the Hydra agents back to their leader? How would she have reacted to Ellen and Jo without Darcy needling her?

The objects in their trunk could be stuck in a bag and carried with Kate. They could be buried, tucked away in a safe deposit box, they couldn’t be tortured or possessed, leaving Kate free to jump back into the fray.

Darcy wondered, as she sipped her beer and watched Kate stare down at the map with eyebrows drawn downward in a sharp V, if that was why Clint told Kate she had to take Darcy on this venture at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're thinking we're back on track with this fic. Are you ready for the Winchesters?  
> Yeah, the girls aren't either.


	4. What Happened to My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a rough few months for Dean Winchester, he's not prepared for Short and Sarcastic and Short and Scary to barrel into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Skinwalkers](http://supernatural.wikia.com/wiki/Skinwalker) are a recurring monster on Supernatural, click through if you wanna read more. 

 

> "In the lives of children, pumpkins turn into coaches, mice and rats turn into men. When we grow up we realize it is far too common for men to turn into rats." --Gregory Maguire

 

Dean had spent the entire hunt irritated.

Skinwalker, should have been easy. In, out. Silver bullet, no stress, no mess.

But Sammy, Sammy drove so Sammy got to pick the music. And so, for the entire hunt thus far, Dean has had Gwen Stefani stuck in his head.

Not that there was anything wrong with Gwen.

She just--she isn’t _saving people, hunting things_ kind of music.

So when the two women entered the diner, he had an excuse for why he wasn’t on his game.

Short, they were both short. Dark hair on both of them, but where one was short and curvy, the other was slightly less short, slightly less curvy with sharp eyes and a nose like a boxer.

There was something off about the pair of them, though Dean couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Sammy,” he jerked his chin towards the pair. “What do you think?”

Sam snorted, shaking his head. “I think you need to focus on the job, Dean. Chase skirts later.”

“I’m going to hell in a year, cut me some slack. Anyway, I can work and chase skirts,” Dean protested. Then smiled, distracted for a second as the shorter of the two peeled her jacket off. “No, dude, there’s something up with them.”

Sam finally caught his tone, and, like an idiot, craned his head around to look at them.

“Sam!” Dean hissed.

Sam offered the girls a shrug, a half-wave, probably did his puppydog-eye-thing, before he turned back. “They seem nice. What was I looking at?”

“They just look--”

“Hot?”

“Shifty,” Dean corrected. “And hot. Look. No, don’t look, you’re too obvious. The angry looking one. She’s--I don’t know, man. It’s like she’s checking the exits or something.”

“Do you think she’s a veteran, or something? Like nervous, everything-might-be-a-bomb shifty,” Sam looked up at him. “Or like, our kind of shifty?”

“Not sure yet.” Dean looked over at the girls’ booth and as if on cue, the one who has Dean worried looked up and saw him staring. He gave a smile and a half-wave. She glared, bright blue eyes narrowing at him until the other girl snapped her fingers in front of her eyes.

Dean looked into his coffee cup, realizing part of what it was--the angry one, the way she walked--like a fighter, like all of her weight was muscle. “Both kinds of shifty. Definitely both.”

“Good to know,” Sam absently flipped through the journal. “Let’s deal with the skinwalker first.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

The Skinwalker’s teeth snapped a little too close to Dean’s neck for comfort when the arrow slid through the air and lodged itself neatly into the eye of the thing.

Which was. Epically useless.

Except the monster twitched, and then...nothing.

“Is that a skinwalker?” An unfamiliar female voice carried through the trees. “It kinda looks like a dog.”

A woman jogged into the clearing, bow in hand. “I really hope you’re a Winchester, and that I didn’t just kill a dog. I’m very anti-killing dogs.”

It was her--that woman from the diner, the one with the hot friend. She was wearing some sort of jumpsuit, the kind that you see in secret-agent spy movies, or those SHIELD assholes on TV in.

“Have you been following us?” Dean kicked the skinwalker off of him, the sound of Sammy’s boots thundering towards them.

Sam reached the clearing, gun up and ready, and in a movement too fast for Dean to track, the woman had an arrow pulled back and aimed at his brother.

“Arrows?” Sam beat Dean to it. “That seems a little. Medieval?”

“Paleolithic,” the woman said, as if that was supposed to mean something. “Are you the Winchesters? I’d like an answer sometime tonight.”

“Well, that depends,” Dean finally got to his feet, leaning over the dead skinwalker to examine it. “What kind of arrow kills a skinwalker?”

“A silver-tipped one,” the voice from before called out, and the other woman from the diner joined them.

“Max,” the other said, exasperated. “I thought we agreed--”

“I lied,” Max cut her friend off. “What? Don’t give me that look. I’m better with the talking thing.”

While bow-and-arrow girl looked like a shady government agent, other girl looked--not. Honestly, a little like a hunter. Dark clothes, layered knits. They didn’t look like they belonged together.

“A silver-tipped arrow. That’s convenient.” Dean looked from his brother, gun still aimed at the woman, bow still aimed at Sammy. “Do you really think an arrow is going to beat a gun?”

“Already did,” her eyes stayed trained on Sammy, but he could almost hear her thinking about Dean’s gun, knocked out of his hand by the skinwalker.

“K--Francis,” Max put her hand on her shoulder. “This is not how we make friends.”

Francis--really?--wavered, then, her eyes flicked away from Sam for an instant.

“Are you the Winchesters?” Max asked again, and got no answer, again. “Yep,” she said after a moment. “Winchesters. Hawkeye. Bro.”

Just like that, the arrow was no longer pointed at Sam.

“ _Bro_? Really? Hey,” she glared at Sam. “I just saved your brother’s life. Probably, unless that was just a dog, in which case I’m really sorry. Either way, drop the gun or I’ll drop it for you.”

Sam looked willing to test this threat, but Dean just wanted a shower and answers.

He dusted his hands off on his jeans before offering his hand to the smaller, less scary of the two. “Dean Winchester. This is my brother, Sam.”

“Max Black.” The woman’s eyes flicked to her companion before she took his hand, gave it a firm squeeze. “This is--” she turned to look at her friend again, who pinched her lips together but nodded. “This is Francis. You probably don't want to shake her hand.”

Dean offered to shake anyway.

Francis--and Dean didn’t for one second believe that was her real name--her hand was still half covered by a shooting glove, so Dean clasped leather and dry skin--and then she squeezed.

Hard.

Dean didn't wince, but it was a near thing.

“Hawkeye, be nice. God. Ellen sent us,” Max breezed on past the display of dominance happening in front of her. “Sam, good to meet you.”

“Is she all right?” Sam's face crumpled in concern.

“She’s fine.” Francis finally releases his hand. “She sent us to you as a test. And a stall. We need to find Bobby Singer, and apparently to do that, we have to go through you.”

“Bobby? How do you even know Bobby?” Dean shook his hand out.

“How about you mind your own damn business?”

“Francis! Do you need coffee?”

Francis visibly shook herself. “We were given information and a few artifacts, and we were told Mr. Singer would be able to tell us something about them.”

“But why would Ellen send you to us first?” Sam wondered aloud.

The women exchanged a look.

“Because Hydra is after the information we have, and she wants to give him enough time to prepare in case we turn out to be evil assholes.” Francis said all of this as if it physically pained her.

“So now you're going to take us to him.” Max concluded.

“Still not convinced,” Dean said.

"Wait, wait, wait," Sam held up his hand. "Hydra? As in Captain America, Red Skull, Nazi magic experimentation  _Hydra_?"

" _Nerd_ ," Dean coughed into his hand, though he knew all that, too. He'd had Captain America comic books, he'd seen some of the files Bobby had from the S.S.R.

“Dean? A word?” Sam cut into the argument. He grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him a few feet away from the women. “Dean, think about it. Two strange women find us in the middle of a forest. One of them is a pretty good shot. We give their stuff a look, give Bobby a call, and if after that we still don't trust them, we can…” he trailed off. “Deal with it then.”

“Oh, yeah, Sammy, that’s a great idea. I love it,” he bit out before he threw a glance over his shoulder. Francis narrowed her eyes at him until Max realized what she was doing and gave her friend an elbow to the ribs.

“We’ll follow you back to the diner,” Francis called. “I’m starving and I wanted to try their peach pie.”

Dean ignored the look Sam gave him.

* * *

“Shotgun,” Francis yelled as the four of them exited the diner, darting in front of Sam towards the passenger side of the Impala.

“Uh. No what is this? Sam rides shotgun, and you never said you wanted to ride with us.” Dean looked up at his brother as if accusing him of agreeing to something for them.

Francis--no way was her name _actually_ Francis--tossed her bag into the passenger seat before she reached for the back door, apparently needing no invitation or permission before waving Max towards the car. “Get in, Max. Stay while I grab our shit so they don’t drive off.”

Sam held his hands up defensively and gestured to Max, probably a good idea since she was rapidly proving herself to be the voice of reason between the two women.

Max had moved to the back seat but hadn't sat down, instead resting her head on the top of the door to watch how the scene played out. Her amused expression was a stark contrast to Francis' focused one.

“Look, Max, it's not that we wouldn't love your company,” Sam was interrupted by the snort Dean couldn’t hold back, “but don't you think you should have included us in this decision?”

“We thought about including you and decided your opinion didn't matter,” Francis commented from three spaces away as she emerged from her trunk, a worn army issued sea bag hanging from one shoulder and two different backpacks on the other.

Max just sighed and leaned her head against the door for a minute. “We thought prolonged contact would help you guys trust us more.”

“Also less of a chance of you guys purposefully leading us off on a wild goose chase to la la land out in the middle of bumfuck.” Francis paused in front of Dean. She was shorter than him and laden with so many bulging bags it was almost comical.

“Hey, look at that,” Dean said to her as she scowled up at him. “You look angry enough for someone at least...twice your height.”

Her scowl deepened. “Trunk. Now.”

“Hawkeye,” Max snapped.

“Trunk, now, _please_.”

Man, this did not fall under the category of ‘saving people, hunting things, family business.’ How did they get dragged into this shit? If he was going to trust either of them, his instinct said to go with Francis--she seemed straightforward. She had a mission, she was going to achieve it, and she was honest about her drive to do it, even if he wasn’t sure she was being entirely honest about what her mission was. He could relate to that.

That is, if she _was_ actually being honest

Max seemed to be less direct than Francis, more able to read past his bluffs, something that made him wary of her.

Dean didn’t know what to make of them, two people he’d never heard of. They knew some things about hunting like the best weapons to kill skinwalkers and who Ellen was, but not enough to know about ways to ward off possession or who John Winchester was. As much as Dean hated to admit it, it was sort of nice to meet people who got their life but didn’t know of them because of their father.

In some ways, they seemed too absurd to be real--short, buxom and secretive paired with snarky girl who used a goddam bow as a weapon. In other ways they seemed a little too convenient, the gaps in their knowledge a little too specific.

Either way, he had _not_ agreed to the girls riding with them, where they took away his and Sammy’s ability to talk about them, where these strangers could stab them or plant hex bags in the car or any number of other unpleasant things.

“You’re not riding with us.”

“Are you two going to cause a scene in the middle of the parking lot over this?” Max interrupted him and Francis glaring at each other, standing across from each other like a standoff from an old western movie.

Francis’ eyebrow raised as if to say _Well, are you?_ and he hesitated. The brothers preferred not to draw more attention to themselves whenever possible. Being on the list of more or less every alphabet agency in the US had that effect on people.

“C’mon Deanarino, don’t you want us where you can keep an eye on us?” Max rested her chin on her hand and smiled.

Max was _definitely_ the one he needed to be wary of. Because she was right, and damn her for that, he would rather keep an eye on them to stop them from pulling anything.

“Don’t call me that.” He muttered, shuffling over to the trunk with a frown.

Max just grinned lecherously, an expression he was already associating with trouble. “You should hear what I’ve been calling your brother, I get even more creative.”

“She really doesn’t, actually.” Francis said under her breath. Sam blushed and awkwardly shuffled his feet, looking far too fascinated with the color of the car next to him.

“You only saw us, what, six hours ago?” Dean scoffed. “What kind of names could you have come up with in that time?”

Francis stood from arranging their things in the trunk. “You _don’t_ want to know, trust me.”

She caught sight of Max grinning in amusement at Sam, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, and just sighed. Francis glanced over to him as he shut the trunk and they both rolled their eyes. He watched as she made a swift beeline to the front passenger seat, long black hair caught up in the evening breeze.

Well.

Maybe having them along wouldn’t be too bad.

* * *

Francis’ eyes darted around the bar. “My three o’clock,” she muttered, her hand clamping over Dean’s wrist. “Not you, you don’t look.”

Dean forced himself not to turn his head.

“Fuck,” Max glanced over for an instant. “Yeah Hawkeye, that’s bad.”

“What is with this Hawkeye stuff?” Dean muttered. “You got a thing for the Avenger?”

“Shut up, Dean,” Max hissed. “I count three behind you.”

“Four behind you. Could be worse--shit. It’s worse.”

“Seven guys, how could it be worse?” Max said, keeping her eyes down.

“One of them knows me,” Francis managed to say it without moving her mouth. “This is gonna _suck_.”

She reached into her jacket, pulled out what looked like a rectangle of foil. “Here,” she passed it to Max.

“Again with the tinfoil? What, do you have a tin hat in there, too?” Max bitched but took it.

“It’s my badge. There’s a tracker in it. If I’m not to the car in five minutes, you get out, you go to Bobby’s, you open that up.”

“And why would I want to do that--”

“Clint will be watching for it. If it comes back on the grid, they’ll know there’s trouble.”

“A Faraday cage,” Sam chuckled. “Nice.”

“Thank you,” Francis didn’t look at any of them. “Five minutes.”

She slid out of the booth, freeing Dean from where he had been pinned in by her.

“Agent Garrett,” she said crisply, toe-to-toe with a respectable looking man, touch of grey in his hair.

“Hawkeye!” the man’s face lit up at the sight of her. If he hadn’t recognized that both of their stances said _fight_ Dean might have thought they were just old friends running into each other. “We’ve been worried about you.”

“So you brought a posse to show me how worried you are? That’s sweet.”

“Come on, Hawkeye,” Garrett frowned as Max shoved at Sam to get him to move. “We know Clint gave you a bag full of fun. We just want you to hand it over.”

“That’s all? Wow, that seems easy.”

“Brock is...very worried about you.”

Francis--Hawkeye?--looked like someone punched her in the stomach. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t play that game with me,” Garrett smiled as he said it, more like a doting father than a senior agent issuing a reprimand. “Brock speaks quite highly of you.”

Dean, Sam, and Max are blocked by two guys in tactical gear. One of the guys laughed. “You won me two hundred bucks. The way you fell for all his--”

Garrett silenced the agent with a look. Dean could see Francis’ neck redden as her shoulders crept towards her ears.

“I’m sorry, kid. Can’t let your friends just go. You remember how it is.” Garrett was focused back on Francis.

“I do.” Dean saw what looked like pipe dropping from the sleeves of her jacket. Saw her hit the Garrett guy on the side of the head with them. Seemed as good a time as any to throw a punch.

Most of the guys converged on Francis with the exception of the one Dean managed to waylay, bar patrons fleeing past them.

Dean wasn’t sure why anyone would think seven men were required to take in one tiny woman. Until he saw her get her thighs around a guy’s neck and start bashing him in the head.

In the time it takes him to subdue his one guy, she’s knocked out four and only gotten a busted lip in the process. Which is when someone starts shooting.

He hears Max cry out, her hand pressed to her side, before Francis tossed something at the shooter, something small and blue that set him twitching and buzzing.

Sam has Max scooped up and out the door, and Dean was getting ready to follow them when he realized Francis wasn’t behind him.

“Hawkeye, Rumlow wanted me to tell you something,” he heard Garrett say. “Hail Hydra.”

Dean heard another shot and a groan, this one from Francis, he was certain.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked as she limped past him to the car.

“I’m great, why the fuck aren’t you in the car, we need to move,” she snapped, grabbing the back of his shirt as if to drag him along.

* * *

Someone from the diner was following them, screaming down the highway.

“Not to panic, or anything,” Max said from the back seat. “But I’ve been _shot_ should we maybe do something about that?”

“Sam--” Francis started, hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough the scabs on her knuckles cracked and started to bleed.

“Put some pressure on it!” Dean finished for her as he yanked his flannel over his head and shoved it at Sam to help stop the bleeding.

“Shit, um--” Francis craned her head around to peer out the windows. “Seatbelts on, everybody, brace for impact.”

“Wait, what? Why?” Sam said with the tone of a man who was _not_ wearing his seatbelt and _not_ braced for impact.

They were going to get rammed.

“How did they get so close? We had a head start!” Dean growled.

“Are you really surprised a stolen sedan is being outrun by a government SUV?” Francis snarled right back. She jerked the steering wheel just as Dean saw a vehicle loom on the driver’s side--

There was the unmistakable sound of metal rending metal as their car was shoved to the side before Francis pulled the parking break, before she swerved their car into the SUV, before she fumbled at his waist for his gun.

She shot out the window of their car, blew out the tire of the other car and slammed into them again, sending the other vehicle skidding off the highway.

Francis shoved his gun into his hands, reaching between the seats for her bow and a handful of arrows.

She got out of the car shooting, something that was logistically confusing to Dean, an arrow in the neck of one of the Hydra dicks she’d run off the road before he could even react.

“Jesus, lady,” he yelled, keeping behind the car door as much as possible while he covered her.

“What the hell, you crazy broad?”

“Calm the fuck down, you ass!” She yelled back, striding around the car, arrow at the ready.

“Hey,” she flipped over the man she’d shot. “Hey, how many more are coming? How many?”

If he answered, it’s too low for Dean to hear.

“What’d he say?” Max broke the quiet.

“Hail Hydra,” Francis snarled, limping back around to the driver’s side. “ _Goddamn_ it.”

“No, no, hell no, you are not driving again,” Dean protested.

“How close are we to Bobby’s?” she ignored him.

“Two miles, maybe. I don’t like that they got this close,” Francis grimaced as Dean answered. The tires squealed as she threw the car into reverse. "Where the hell did you learn to drive? Jesus!" he was going to die, he was going to die ten months before his deal came due because--

"A former carnie," she slammed the brakes. "A senior intelligence agent," she jammed it into drive. "And the Dread Pirate Roberts."


	5. A Bird By Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, who doesn't love the sweet smell of secret identities in the morning...evening?

Francis had an arrow aimed at Bobby and loosed before Dean managed to tackle her to the ground. He drove his knee into the bullet wound on her thigh. She howled in pain but still managed to slam her elbow into his sternum before someone came up behind him and pulled Dean away from her.

“Dammit, you idjit!” Bobby snapped in his ear. “She wasn’t shootin’ at me you damn fool!”

Bobby managed to haul Dean so they were facing the house and sure enough, Dean could see a prone form with an arrow sticking straight out of what he had to assume was an eye.

“How the hell did you even see that guy?” Dean asked incredulously.

“She’s Hawkeye, boy, who the hell d’you think she is?” Bobby shook Dean before pulling him into a tight hug.

“Uuuhh, touching as this is,” apparently-Hawkeye gritted out, clutching her leg. “We need to do a perimeter sweep and make sure there aren’t more coming--”

“If there are, they don’t have tech,” Darcy supplied helpfully from the car.

“Yay,” Hawkeye groaned. “Ugh, god, you _shithead._ ” She rolled to her knees and then pulled herself to a standing position using Bobby as leverage. “Wait, I know you. You’re the guy who got Lucky drunk.”

“That was the damn dog’s fault,” Bobby argued.

“Right,” she barked a laugh. “Okay. Gonna check the perimeter.”

“We’ll take care of the body,” Bobby offered.

“Give Darcy any tech he has. Grab his ID and his piece, too. And then someone stitch Darcy up, please. Oh, and check him for explosives,” she added almost as an afterthought.

“Great,” Dean smiled at her. “Except who the fuck is Darcy?”

“Uugh,” she groaned again and waved her hand in the direction of the car. “Max. Max is Darcy. Did you really think we’d use our real names, man? Come on.” She turned to Bobby, gave him a curt nod. “You good to go, Mr. Singer?”

“This ain’t my first rodeo, girl.”

Hawkeye, Francis, whatever her name was, didn’t even bother to turn around as she flipped them off, limping around the corner of the house.

“You would have checked for explosives?” Dean muttered as he and Bobby started checking the guy’s pockets.

“She don’t need to know that.”

* * *

“Go check on Kate,” Darcy commanded from the pillows.

“Bobby’s got her, Darcy. I think she’s fine,” Sammy smiled at her and Dean suppressed an eye-roll and a gag but not the angry commentary under his breathe about pretty girls and suckers.

“I wouldn’t bet on it, Mr. Awesome Hair. Someone take me to where she is.” Darcy beat him to the punch.

“Woah, woah, woah, we’re not gonna hold the phone and have a powwow about who Kate is?”

Sam looked back at Dean, looking for guidance, but Dean didn’t have any to give him.

Darcy didn’t appear to suffer from lack of a plan, though.

“You,” she jabbed her finger at Sam. “Carry me to the kitchen, or wherever. Up, up, up.”

Dean was only slightly surprised when Sam complied, hoisting Darcy up in his arms.

“Wow,” she said. “The view from up here is great.”

“Glad you enjoy it,” Sam said, dopey smile crossing his face.

Dean tromped behind them into Bobby’s kitchen, where Kate or Francis or Hawkeye, whoever she was, was seated at the table while Bobby tended to the stove.

“Hawkeye,” Darcy said in a commanding voice. “You still have a bullet in your leg, don’t you?”

“Oh,” she stretched out her leg, looking at the hole oozing blood. “Huh. Look at that.”

“You’re an idiot,” Darcy rolled her eyes. “Hey, you. Shorty McShortpants. Dean!”

“What--what?” Dean took a minute to realize she was speaking to him, too distracted by the fact that Darcy appeared to be _petting_ Sammy’s hair. “In what world am I short?”

“The world where I am currently held miles above the ground. You, tiny one, help her out.”

“I can do it myself,” Hawkeye muttered petulantly, staring at the table.

“Yeah, but you _haven’t_ ,” Darcy pointed out. “So Dean will do it, you two will bond over pretending like getting shot doesn’t hurt, and I’m going to go take a nap on top of Sam here.”

Nobody moved.

“Fine.” Hawkeye stood, wobbled before she steadied herself on the table. She didn’t look to any of them for help. Not to gauge the mood, not to calm them. She locked eyes with each of them, Bobby last, determination and resolve settling around her. “My name is Katherine Bishop, codename Hawkeye. Former SHIELD consultant, leader of Strike Team Yankee Alpha. You can call me Kate or Hawkeye, don’t call me Katherine.”

“Okay, Katie,” Dean smirked at her.

“Or Katie,” the jibe barely got him a glance. “This is Darcy Lewis. We’re here because SHIELD,” she hesitates for the first time. “SHIELD is falling. Could be hours, days--maybe weeks.”

Bobby went very still. “How? Why?”

“Hydra. Hydra’s been--we don’t know. Infiltrating SHIELD, maybe they’ve been in it the whole time. The point is, SHIELD is either going down or becoming Hydra.”

“Hell, that ain’t good. Sit down, Hawkeye. Dean, get that bullet out of her.”

Kate didn’t look like she wanted to sit but after a staring contest with Bobby she finally sat. “SHIELD’s records on this world--your world--Hunters, monsters, the things that go bump in the night--they’re spotty at best. Coulson and Clint and Hill made sure that their interactions with you, with Ellen, they’ve all been off the books. But Hydra--”

“Big into myths and monsters and occult,” Bobby supplies.

“And we need to keep them away from that.”

Dean picked up the scissors Bobby had set next to him, cutting through the material around the bullet wound.

“Sounds fun,” Dean interjected, pouring alcohol onto her leg.

Hawkeye ignored him, which was a feat since he was digging into her leg with a pair of tweezers.

“Wait,” Sammy finally spoke up. He was leaning against the back of the couch, still carrying Darcy. “Katherine Bishop, Kate Bishop. Aren’t you an heiress or something?”

“Sammy? You know this chick?”

“ _This chick_ has a name,” Hawkeye’s hand enters his field of vision, waving in front of his eyes. “And it’s Hawkeye.”

Darcy cleared her throat.

“Oh, or Kate.”

“Kate Bishop,” Sam continued. “You’re like, a socialite millionaire heiress, right?”

“Hold up,” Dean fished the bullet out of her leg and finally looked at her. “Are you freaking kidding me? You’re basically Batman?”

“Can’t be Bruce Wayne if you’re cut off,” she snapped. “Are you gonna bandage me up or just stare?”

“Do you want to do this yourself?” Dean pushed at her shoulder until she sat back. “And you mind telling us why the fake names? _Francis Nikolayevna. Max Black._ ”

“Like you don’t use fake names,” Darcy butted into the conversation. “Credit card scams, please. Child’s play.”

Dean opened his mouth to defend his and Sam’s honor(which, you know, _haha_ )--and how had Max--Darcy--known that? Kate spoke before Dean could.

“We’ve been using fake names since we left New York,” Kate winced as Dean started placing stitches. “Francis Nikolayevna is a sign. In case--”

“In case Barton and Romanoff come lookin’ for ya,” Bobby finished her statement.

“Yeah,” Hawkeye nodded, her hesitation the only sign that she doubted this course of action. “I don’t know if they’d be able to, or if they could, but if they needed me--I wanted them to be able to get to me.” She swallowed hard and Dean had a sudden memory of looking for Sammy, looking for their dad. Following hidden trails.

“Anyway,” she continued with a shake of her head. “I knew Clint trusted Bobby and Ellen, but I don’t know you. I wasn’t going to endanger Darcy until I was sure you hadn’t already been contacted by Hydra.”

“Smart,” Dean shrugged. No sense getting mad about a solid defense plan, he would have done the same thing. “Can I ask you something? Yankee Alpha--what’s YA stand for, anyway?”

* * *

Dean slept fitfully, kept waking up for no reason.

He gave up on sleep eventually, went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water when he saw Kate turning a phone over in her hand.

“Phoning home?” he joked, leaning in the doorway. She didn’t even jump.

“It’s off. Battery out.” She stared at the cell. “Garrett’s.” She squeezed it in one hand. “We’re going to have to turn it on eventually, and I’m trying to figure out the best place to do that. Can’t be close but can’t be too far away, either, that’s too suspect.”

“Who’s Rumlow?”

“What?” her head snapped up and she looked at him for the first time.

“Heard that Garrett guy say something to you about him, and then you got shot. Whoever it is, that guy knew it would shake you up.”

“It’s not important.”

“Doesn’t look like that from where I’m standing.”

“Your perspective is skewed.”

“Boyfriend?”

She rolled her eyes at him, but before he could respond, one of Bobby’s phones rang--labeled FBI. Hell. Was it too late for the FBI to be answering calls?

Wound up not mattering--the phone rang once and then stopped.

It rang again.

“Well, that is clearly someone trying to get your attention,” Kate waved him towards the phone. “You gonna answer that?”

Dean shrugged. “What the hell? Sure.” He picked up the receiver and had just taken a breath when the other person spoke.

“Bobby?”

“Sleeping.”

“Who are you?”

“This is Dean Winchester. Who the hell are you?”

“Put Kate on.”

“Uh,” Dean covered the mouthpiece. “It’s for you.”

It looked like all the blood drained from her face.

“Tell her--dude, it’s Clint, my name is Clint. And um. Tell her Lucky Dog Pizza and Target Practice.”

“Says his name is Clint?” Dean asked her. “And what the hell is Lucky Dog Pizza and Target Practice?”

“Mind your business.” Kate walked to him, took the phone. “Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

He leaned against the kitchen table. “Nope.”

“What?”

“I’m staying here. I don’t know you--for all I know you’re plotting to kill us.”

“Right,” she snorted. “Fine. Stay. Just be quiet. Clint?”

The thing about Bobby’s phones was that the volume was turned up on all of them, so if Dean sat quietly he could hear the whole conversation.

_Hey, girly-girl--_

“Are you safe? You and Tasha?”

_Safe as we usually are. We got word someone was sniffing around Singer’s--gotta keep this brief, though._

“Understood. Mr. Singer is going to look everything over in the morning, but it’s looking like this isn’t a one and done kind of deal.”

_Read you loud and clear, Hawkeye._

“Clint,” her voice lowered, as if she could stop Dean hearing the question. “Did you--is it--Garrett said something to me. About Brock Rumlow.”

Dean could hear the sigh from the other end of the line.

“Did you know? How long did you know?”

A long moment of silence.

_I called you the day I found out._

Kate swallowed hard enough for Dean to see.

“So it’s true? He’s Hydra?”

_I’m sorry, Kate--_

Kate gasped in a breath. “Is that why--”

_I had stuff that needed to be protected and you needed to get away from DC. Natasha--she found out his mission. You and Steve, girly-girl. Take him out, take you in. That was his--_

“Don’t you say it, don’t you dare say it,” she took another deep, shuddery breath, covering her eyes with her hand. _”I was not his mission.”_

_Kate. you were. I’m sorry, but you were._

Kate sucked in another breath. “Okay. Okay. _Fuck._ Okay. I still have _my_ mission. You keep my team safe, I keep your shit safe.”

_Kate, are you okay--_

“No, but I will be. You stay safe, Clint. You and Natasha, you stay safe. Make sure my boys are safe.”

_Back atcha, kid. Watch your six._

There was the unmistakable sound of a phone hanging up.

Kate sat there, in the dim light of Bobby’s kitchen, having seemingly forgotten about Dean. She stared at the phone until Dean pulled it from her hand and hung it back up.

“So, this week’s been all kinds of shitty for you, I’m guessing.”

She looked up at him, startled.

“C’mon. Even Avengers need sleep, right?” he hadn’t meant to be nice to her, but she just looked--lost. It’s a look Dean related to. “Everything will be better in the morning.”

Unfortunately, Dean was wrong. In the morning, they found out SHIELD had fallen.


	6. Murphy's Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is bonding, expostion, snarkiness and backstory.

"It must be a Thursday, I could never get a hang of Thursdays." _Hitchiker's Guide to The Galaxy_

“Okay,” Kate limped around before a glare from Darcy had her taking a seat. “Okay. So. We have a box with a chunk of rock in it. A few magical books. An amulet that is also a key. Probably, anyway,” she gestured to her neck. “None of this makes sense.”

“Of course none of it makes sense,” Dean muttered. “Because you’re--”

“If I were the head of Hydra,” Kate ignored him. “What would I do?”

“Oh, Jesus, not this again,” Darcy grumbled with all the enthusiasm of someone who has heard this before, slumped in an old ratty recliner wearing an oversized sweatshirt looking more like a bored teenager than anything else.

“Yes this again,” Kate propped her leg up on the kitchen table. “If I’m the head of Hydra, what do I want?”

“Power,” Bobby decided to play. “Historically, Hydra has always wanted power. Doubt that’s changed.”

“Right,” Kate’s whole face lit up.

“Artifacts. Objects of power,” Darcy added with a resigned sigh. “Magical or alien. Doesn’t matter which.”

“Good!”

“Places to do their experiments or a way to hide those places,” Sam suggested.

“Goons,” Dean says when it became clear nobody else was going to say it. “They need warm bodies. Doesn’t seem like their whole takeover of SHIELD thing worked, so they gotta be hurting for manpower.”

“Exactly,” Kate pointed at him and smiled, something about it more grim than comforting. “They need people. Bobby knows a lot, they wouldn’t just kill him. They were going to recruit you. In light of how SHIELD went down, I think we have to assume that at the moment their goal isn’t stuff, it’s people. Maybe Hydra has been more successful at infiltrating this world than SHIELD was. But if they haven’t--”Her voice trailed off.

“If they haven’t then every Hunter is fair game.” Bobby finished.

“And they’re going to want the best,” she continued. “They’ll take everyone. But. They’re going to want the best. Bobby, aside from you, who would you say the best hunters are, that you’ve heard of or know of?”

Bobby looked at her for a solid minute, as if weighing her, judging her. “Ellen and Ash,” he said, finally. “Neither of them are Hunters, exactly, but as far as putting together leads? Ash is an idjit, but he’s one of the smartest idjits I know. And Ellen, well, if anyone is running a network for Hunters, it’s her. As far as out in the field, actually huntin’ things,” Bobby trailed off, looking at Sam and Dean. “It’s these boys right here.”

Dean saw it in her eyes, this is the best the Hunting world has to offer? But she managed to not say it.

“You caught us on an off day,” Dean responded to the unspoken criticism anyway. “We’ve had a rough few months.”

She laughed.

“We have,” Sam cut in.

“No, sorry, I was laughing because I’ve said that before. I buy it.” The smile slowly faded from her face. “Well, that’s it then. We protect the stuff as much as we can, but our priority,” her eyes skated over to Darcy, then back to Dean. “My priority is protecting you two. And Bobby, as much as possible.”

For something relatively inoffensive, her words caused an uproar. 

From Sam and Dean, it’s about their ability to protect themselves.  
From Darcy, it’s anger that Kate thinks she can do this alone.

Bobby was the one who shouted for silence.

“Everybody, sit down and shut up,” He snapped. “Kate’s right. Dean’s right. Their goal is gonna be people, it makes the most sense. Now boys, I know this is going to be a blow to your delicate sensibilities, but she’s right. You don’t know jack about Hydra, and Hawkeye here does. Knows some actual faces, if I’m not mistaken. And you boys are good on a hunt, but these. Are trained government agents. Maybe assassins. Havin’ her along ain’t gonna slow you down or tie you up.”

“And I’m sure as hell not letting you do this alone,” Darcy growled. “Seriously, Kate?”

“Darcy, you can protect yourself. You have an entire skillset that will allow you to disappear. If I thought you still needed me to protect you--”

“That is so not what this is about.”

“Really? What’s it about? Enlighten me.”

“Okay, fine, it’s totally about you thinking I’m dead weight or something--”

“Are you for real right now? No, I would totally appreciate you coming along and making my life easier but you didn’t sign up for this, Darce. I don’t know what’s going to happen and if you want to go live your life then I figured I’d make sure you realized it was an option I wasn’t going to be mad at you for taking.”

“Oh,” Darcy calmed down at once. “That’s really nice, Kate. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“But I’m totally going with you. I’m still not good at the shooting type things, if Hydra does come after me, I’d feel better if you were only an arrow’s throw away.”

“That’s not a phrase, Darcy.”

“Somethin’ else to consider,” Bobby broke through their bonding moment. “Maybe artifacts ain’t a priority, but it’s not gonna be off the list. You gotta consider they want monsters, too.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed at Bobby. “What do you mean?”

“You really don’t know anything about this stuff, do you?” Dean gave a bitter laugh. “Vampires, shifters, things that go bump in the night. Things that are super fast, or super strong, or can walk through wall or make humans do whatever the monsters want ‘em to. You can’t think of anyone’d be interested in that?”

Kate closed her eyes, maybe even clenched her jaw before dropping her head into her hands. “Fuckity fuck fuck.”

“What was that? Didn’t hear you.” Dean smirked while Sam shook his head. 

~*~

Breaking out the deck of worn classic car playing cards for a game of Texas Hold ‘Em to clear the air between everyone and get them to relax was either one of Bobby’s best ideas, or worst ideas--no one was sure yet. Outwardly, it was done to distribute chores and other tasks that needed doin’ while everyone was staying at Bobby’s, mostly because he wasn’t sure how everyone would react to the forced bonding activity even if it did have the noble ability of getting everyone to relax.

Plus, Bobby was itchin’ to see what the girls could do and get pawn off some of his housework in the process.

Except they were on their second game, Darcy and Kate both played the naive female role to a T on the first round (one more convincingly than other, _”Are Matching Aces a good thing?”_ cute Kate, real cute) and it was Dean who won with a grin and a _”Maybe next time kiddos.”_ much to his brother’s embarrassment.

This round however was bringing out the competitive streak in Darcy and Dean both, they were on the fifth round of betting with the two of them being the only ones remaining. Sam, Kate and Bobby had bowed out when the stakes got higher than their motivation to win.

Darcy and Dean apparently, had no such qualms.

She was still half heartedly holding onto the ‘I don’t know what I’m doing’ shtick, but there was a sort of manic grin on her face that blew the helpless bit out of the water along with the usual lassiez faire attitude she wore with her sweaters and dirty converse.

“Ya fold Darce?” Dean had that cocky grin that usually boded trouble.  
Darcy only laughed and reached up to her messy, crooked ponytail to her oversized scrunchie in her hair and casually reached over to pull one of Kate’s pocket knives from her pocket to cut into the scrunchie.

Silence at the table as a clattering resounded around the room, and everyone’s eyes dropped to two sparkling ladybugs that appeared to be comprised of rubies and some sort of dark sparkling gem. They each had a long string of diamonds hanging from them with flowers attached that had bright sapphire petals. She shook the scrunchie again and several loose diamonds fell from it as well, almost as an afterthought.

“I recognize those.” Kate whispered, reaching out with a tentative hand to the earrings on the table. She grasped one of them and held it up where it caught the light, eye catching and glittering.

_Darcy’s parents loved Black Tie Fundraisers, there was great food, lots of bubbly to go around, pompous people to mock passive aggressively, and lots of flashy jewelry everywhere the eye could land. It was like Christmas for them._

_On the other hand, Darcy hated them. At nearly 14 she had not yet hit any sort of growth spurt, she was short with big blue eyes and just a little chubbiness to her body that made her look younger than she was still. So her parents too advantage of it, curling her hair and putting her in a floofy puffy dress and maryjanes instead of the teenager type dress the darling daughter of their hosts was wearing. Her parents aimed to work the innocent little girl angle as long as they could._

_It was hard to blame them, as security didn’t stop her when she literally skipped from the ballroom (who need a ballroom in their own home anyway? Weirdos.) to the house proper. It took her two tries to find the office which held a fairly simple safe that took her only 5 minutes to crack with lockpicks that had been hidden in her necklace, and she took the papers within for her parents in case it was worth something.  
Down the hall was the master bedroom, where the best goodies usually lay. She tried to circle the room with her mother’s analytical eyes--this is the part she had never got to do herself, and she had always been eager for. It was always her mother going through the nice houses, finding the real safes like some kind of bloodhound and sweet talking the combinations out of them._

_Now it was Darcy’s turn. Usually she followed her mother and watched in awe from the distance, but today they had decided to let her have a go at this one alone._

_Half an hour later she had removed a boring landscape painting from the wall and grabbed an ottoman to stand on, listening to the safe like her mother._

_Twenty minutes after that she was in, and oh what a find what a find._

_Cash, passports, jewelry, watches, lovely lovely things that made her heart pick up more than any boy or girl ever did. More than that though, it was the victory of getting in and finding what she was sent for._

_She swept it all into the satchells hidden under her too many petticoats for just that purpose, replaced the painting, took off her gloves, slid the ottoman back in it’s place and started to make her way back to the party---_

_Except._

_In the hallway she passed a room with the door slightly ajar, and a purple canopied bed was barely visible. As if she were hypnotized Darcy found herself unable to resist being drawn into the room, pushing open the door silently and walking in with slow deliberate steps._

_This must have been the little princess’ room, there were stuffed animals, ballet shoes, hair ties and dresses scattered across it. There was a pile of mismatched jewelry on the pink vanity, and there she found the earrings, sparkling and filled with jewels--and considering the house she was in hopefully a good many of them would be real. Pretty, they would get tangled in her curls were she to actually wear them but they were still pretty. She snagged them, stuffing them in her pocket instead of the bag she would give to her parent’s._

_Hanging on the mirror she saw another necklace, older chain and engraved locked. Where the rest of the jewelry was scattered haphazardly on the desk this one was held in a place of honor where it wouldn’t get tangled or scratched. It was special. Possibly an heirloom, definitely a unique antique._

_Her family had nothing like that, they never would. If they did then her gran had it, who wasn’t the fondest of her parents so Darcy would probably never see them. This girl though? She had diamonds, silks, and a family legacy all to herself._

_So Darcy grabbed it, grabbed a little bit of someone else’s legacy for herself since she couldn’t have her own._

_Her mother let her keep the earrings as a reward for a good first solo haul, but she kept the necklace a secret._

__

“They’re very pretty .” Darcy said even though she wasn’t sure why, in the almost tense silence that had descended on the table as Kate ran her fingers over the earrings. Now that she thought about that night she could remember a sulking, smaller Kate Bishop in a purple dress, trying to hide in a corner away from would be suitors probably after her father’s money. Obviously they were pretty, why else would she have stolen them? Who compliments a person on stolen jewelry from a decade ago anyway?

Kate just smiled, “Yeah, I know. My mother bought them for me because I was her flighty little ladybug.” Her eyes were suspiciously watery, and Darcy had a feeling that Kate wasn’t in South Dakota anymore, far away and in a brighter place and everyone at the table was loathe to shatter where she had disappeared to. She thought back to the other necklace bundled up in her backpack, and maybe that it was time to give a bit of Kate’s history back to her.

It was just as well, hearing things like that made her realize that--

That.

It wasn’t the necklace that had her jealous all those years ago, or the jewels. It was something much less tangible that Darcy couldn’t stuff in her pockets and couldn’t keep her warm even if she wished for it to be so. 

~*~  
Dean could hear someone moving around Bobby’s house at ass o’clock in the morning. He could also smell coffee. 

It took him a second to register the two female voices as Max and Francis--or rather, Darcy and Kate.

He hauled himself out of bed in time to hear the front door shut, pulled on some clothes that were mostly clean, tromped to the kitchen to find Darcy sitting at the table.

“Where’s your angry friend?” Dean asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

“Out,” Darcy waved her hand in the general direction of the junkyard, “there. She came in, like, rhapsodizing about a car she found out there. I’m not sure if she was actually excited about the car or if it was because she drank a whole pot of coffee mostly by herself.”

Dean took a sip of his cup and shuddered, turning to rummage in the fridge. “She make that? Shit’s like jet fuel, not surprised she’s bouncing off the walls.” He added some cream to his coffee before the rest of Darcy’s statement filtered through his tired brain. “Wait, a car?”

He was out the door before Darcy could respond.

And sure enough Kate-Katie-Francis-Hawkeye was standing in front of Baby. Standing in front of Baby, Baby with her hood up, and Kate-Hawkeye-whoever torso deep in Baby’s engine block--

“Hell no,” he growled, coming up behind her and grabbing her by the shoulder.

Bad move.

Kate had him in a wristlock faster than he could blink.

“Don’t sneak up on me,” she snapped after a second, releasing him with enough force that he stumbled.

“Don’t sneak up on me,” he muttered.

“If I sneak up on you, you won’t have a chance to to restrain me, you’ll either be dead or unconscious.”

“Well, you’re just a ray of sunshine, ain’t you?”

“Did you need something, Mr. Winchester?” she leaned back into Baby, screwing with his car.

“Dude, leave the car alone!”

She straightened. “Well, pardon me for not wanting this lovely lady to burn out over leaking coolant.”

“She--what?” Dean did a double take as Kate walked around the other side of Baby and retrieved her coffee from the roof of the car. “Why are you screwing around with my car?”

“Your car?” Kate glanced at him, trailing her fingers over Baby’s roof, around her trunk, before she stopped in front of him. “Please. No. This lady is classy.” Kate tapped her purple fingernails against the car, running her hand along the roof again. “If this car was a person, the two of you wouldn’t even be frequenting the same bars.”

“Lady, will you stop fondling my car?”

“Fondling?” her head tilted to the side like she couldn’t quite hear him. “I mean. Stroking, maybe.”

Dean was not prone to blushing; it was the _way_ she said it, really, one hand on his car, one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee, face completely innocent. 

“I’ll stroke you,” Dean muttered before he realized that was exactly the opposite of what he wanted to say.

It broke the tension, though, Kate’s eyebrows going up and a smirk flashing across her features before she could stop it. 

“Right,” she took a long drink of coffee. “Now that we’ve established you will never be in charge of trash talking. Did you need something, Mr. Winchester?”

“Can you _stop_ calling me that? My name is Dean.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean growled. “What do you _do_ , anyway?”

“I protect you.”

Dean laughed. “Sure thing, Hawkeye.”

“Look, Mr.Winchester. You might be good at what you do. You could be the _best_ at what you do. But what you do isn’t--this. It’s not spies and assassins and government hit squads. I don’t know anything about your world of monsters and demons and ghosts, and you don’t know anything about mine. My job is to keep us alive while we teach each other about our respective worlds.”

Dean stared at her for a long moment. “You just made that up right on the spot, didn’t you?”

She stared at him, slack-jawed, for a moment. “Well, it was worth a try.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him. “Do you have _any_ idea what the hell you’re doing?”

“I _am_ here to keep you alive. Learning a thing or two from you and your brother and Mr. Singer wouldn’t hurt anything. Apart from that?” She sighed. “It’s becoming very clear that nobody really knows how deep Hydra was inside SHIELD, or how much information they have. The fact that they even knew to look for hunters makes me nervous. Based on what I’ve seen, I don’t want Hydra getting their hands on,” she waved her hand, “ _any_ of this.” Another deep sigh. “My boss is dead and Captain America just blew up my job. My calendar is open for--a very long while, I think.”

“There it is! The truth comes out,” Dean grinned at her, and this time she responded in kind. “Welcome to your new job, then.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“C’mon, Hawk,” her codename came more easily to him than he’d anticipated. He gestured towards the back of the car, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her before popping open the trunk. “The two most important things you can carry as a hunter are salt and iron.”

“Salt and iron. Sounds like an eighties rock band.”

“Hey,” Dean wagged his finger at her. “Salt and Iron would be an awesome band name, okay?”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Right.”  
~*~  
“Sam was internet stalking you,” Darcy called as she approached Kate.

Kate, who had managed to haul herself up to sit on the roof of an old junker. Darcy hadn’t ever been shot in the leg, but she was fairly certain that’s not what you’re supposed to do.

“Hmmm,” Kate tilted her head back into the fading light of the sun. “You should rest, Darcy.”

“I’m sorry about stealing from you.” Darcy picked her way through the old cars with care. No sense in having to get a tetanus shot, too.

“No, you’re not,” Kate disagreed. There was no malice in her voice, though, just an unusual sort of bemusement. “This is gonna sound stupid, but I’m a little glad you did? When my dad got remarried he gave a lot of my mom’s jewelry to New Wife, but since you and your family stole most of it...” she trailed off.

“New Wife?”

“I went to high school with her. Not gonna call her anything but that.”

“Ew,” Darcy stared up at Kate, who didn’t even look at Darcy but still offered her a hand up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Kate finally looked at her. Sad, but not angry. Maybe a little tired, but Darcy knew angry Kate, and angry-and-trying-to-hide-it Kate, and sad Kate, and frustrated Kate. The Kate right next to her was none of these varieties of Kate. “You know, nobody really voices a negative opinion on this kind of thing in our—his—social circles. You’re the first person I’ve told that said ‘ew’. So thanks.”

“Your team didn’t come at you with ‘ew’? That doesn’t seem likely.”

“Two ‘I’m sorry’s one ‘that sucks’ and one ‘that is super weird’ but no ‘ew’,” Kate smiled at Darcy. “Thanks.”

“Hey, any time you want an honest appraisal of a relationship, I’m your girl,” Darcy bumped her shoulder into Kate’s. “But that’s not why I came out here.”

“Right. Sam. Internet stalking.”

“First of all, I didn’t realize you were in rehab right now. I hope that’s going well for you. Secondly, were you planning on telling anyone today is your birthday?”

“Uh,” Kate’s guilty expression was more than enough answer. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“That’s so dumb. How are we supposed to get you a cake and candles if you don’t—“ Darcy trailed off. “You don’t want a cake and candles?”

“Darcy, I don’t know these people. I don’t expect them to stand around and sing Happy Birthday to me. I don’t even expect you to sing to me.”

“Well, just so you know, a cake is happening. No candles, I think the only candles Bobby has are the ritual kind, which, no. But I do have a present for you.”

Darcy fished around in her pocket before she came up with a small square of folded tissue paper. “I was kind of surprised I still had this,” Darcy admitted, holding it in her palm. “When we broke into your dad’s safe, that was the first job I was a real part of. I actually am the one that cracked the safe. This,” Darcy handed Kate her present. “Is what was left. Wasn’t worth anything, money wise, so I kept it as a memento of my first score. Figured I should probably give it back to you.” She downplayed the importance of it to her, the weight it had caused in her chest when she saw it. If Kate saw a hint of it in her eyes or heard it in her voice she did her the courtesy of not saying anything.

Kate’s stare was more curious that accusing before she carefully tore through the paper and a tarnished silver chain and pendant spilled into her hand.

“Oh,” Kate’s voice caught in her throat, and before Darcy could react Kate’s arms had snapped around her, pulling Darcy into a hug, as opposed to the punch she’d been expecting. “Thank you, Darcy.”

“Happy birthday, Hawkeye.”


End file.
